We finally did manage to find our way back to the hotel. The best part was, it only took us another hour. "And if we relied on my sense of direction instead of yours," I insisted, "we wouldn't have been lost in the first place."

"And if we didn't get lost, you would still be horny," Darren said, stepping ahead of me to hold open the gold-plated door, the hotel's logo stamped in the center. So posh. So much Darren's choice. Even when we're arguing, he remembers to be a gentleman.

"You would have taken care of that sooner or later," I said, walking through the door he was holding into the lobby, even richer looking than the outside.

"You," Darren replied, sneaking up behind me, placing his hand on my right shoulder and purring into my ear, "would have had to take care of that yourself."

"Then you would have had to watch."

"You've got me there," he said, kissing me on the cheek and taking my hand. "I would love to watch." It figures that would be his response. I rolled my eyes, turning my head slightly so he couldn't see.

Passing through the lobby to the elevators meant we would walk by the concierge's desk. Even at this deathly time of morning it was attended, this by a blond-haired, baby-faced young man. I wondered how he could be so unlucky to work at an ungodly hour. Darren noticed him as well. "Feel like ordering champagne and strawberries?"

"Not at 7AM I don't."

"Don't think of it as 7AM in Paris; think of it as 3AM in New York."

"I'm thinking the sun is shining and I want to go to bed," I said. "Besides, you barely know any French."

"Ah, the typical cynical American girl who cannot speak the language. Lest you forget, I'm Australian."

"I know. And you still don't know any French." We had reached the concierge booth. The young man--he really couldn't have been much older than 19 or 20--smiled at us. "Luc" was printed on his gold-plated nametag.

"Just let me handle it, Sabrina."

Oh, this is going to be interesting, I thought, but the boy greeted us before I could get the words out.

"Puis-je vous aider?" he asked, his deep blue eyes reflecting sincere friendliness.

"Oui," Darren smiled, flashing his charm. "Um, champagne...Dom Perignon..et du, uh, strawberries." It was so hard not to laugh. French indeed.

"Voudrais des fraises et du Dom Perignon." Luc gently corrected him, appearing amused at Darren's lousy attempt.

"Oui," Darren agreed, though for what we both knew, he could have agreed to have liver and onions sent up. He fished his room key out of his pocket, not wanting to take the chance of messing up further.

Luc merely grinned. He was probably used to both Americans and Australians messing up his native tongue. "Tout de suite, monsieur."

"Thank you. Oh--" Darren again showed his key to Luc, pushing a 100 franc toward him. They exchanged a look--it was more like a gaze--and a smile. It lasted a second, enough to make me drag him over to the elevators.

"What was that about?" The sleek silver doors opened and closed around us, sealing us in the moving car. Darren pressed the button for the 23rd floor.

"He looks reliable, and he more or less understood what I was saying, so I wanted him to deliver our goodies." Darren turned his eyes skyward, watching the individual numbers light up.

"I meant that little exchange between you two. You know, the look? Almost as if you found him attractive. What's up with that?"

"What look? There's no look." The elevator had arrived at our floor. "Why, does it bother you? Are you jealous?" Our room was at the end of the hallway. Darren unlocked the door, leading us into the spacious suite.

"Why would I be jealous?" I flopped down on the king-size bed, relishing the chance to be off my feet, to relax at last.

Naturally, Darren had other plans. "Nuh-uh, Sabrina." How is it this man could drag me all over Paris on the subway and still be hyper? He inserted a disk into the stereo. "Some music to slow-dance by whilst we wait for our champagne?"

Irritated, I sat up, sighing audibly. No rest for the weary. "I'm going to assume I don't have a choice."

"That's right. You don't." Darren held out his arms in invitation; never can I resist the temptation to be held close to his warm, hard chest swaying softly, knowing how loved I am, how he loves me. His arms slid, his hands meeting at the small of my back, and the music began to play, slow and melodic.

He had to be kidding, playing that. I pushed myself away from him. "This is a Britney Spears song! We're dancing to a Britney Spears song!"

Darren laughed. "This isn't Britney Spears. It's a band called Fountains of Wayne."

"Doing a Britney Spears song."

"It's not really her song, lyric-wise," he said, still chuckling. "Now come back here already." He took me back into his arms, letting me breathe his cologne, his scent, him. Fountains of Wayne's version of the tune wasn't bad really. It was a bit slower than the original, and the lead vocal was male.

Swaying back and forth, Darren raised my chin with two fingers, brushing his lips against mine, soft meeting warm, warm meeting soft.

"Mmmm...Darren?"

His tongue traced the bottom of my upper lip. "Mmmm...yes?"

"We're dancing to a Britney Spears song."

He broke off the lingering kiss, sliding off my lips, sighing out of exasperation. "It's almost over."

I gave him my best deer-in-the-headlights look. "Promise?"

He grudgingly smiled. "I promise." The song did end. "See? Now listen to the next one."

A ringing guitar, a hint of piano; the haunting melody of Bush's "Letting the Cables Sleep" was now filling the room. "Where were we?" Darren said quietly, so sexy, his arms enveloping me and bringing me back into his mouth.

I laid my head on Darren's shoulder, planting a tiny kiss on the soft patch besides his neck. If only a moment could last for eternity. If only we could wrap the world around it indeed.

If only that weren't the cue for a knock on the door. How do these situations always happen? "Champagne's here," Darren said, reluctantly letting go so he could open the door.